


Cat's Paw

by karasunovolleygays



Series: Sportsfest 2019 [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bodyguard AU, M/M, Mentions of Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Iwaizumi is hired to keep an eye on pop idol Sugawara Koushi, who has been receiving ominous letters from a crazed fan.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Sugawara Koushi
Series: Sportsfest 2019 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802278
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Cat's Paw

“The new client’s here,” Mizoguchi grumbles, jabbing his thumb toward the door behind him. “Good luck. You’ll be finding panties in places you didn’t even know you had if you end up with that one.”

Iwaizumi quirks a brow. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Mizoguchi snorts. “You’ll see.”

With a shrug, Iwaizumi heads into the reception room where all the VIP clients wait to pick and choose their security detachments. Considering the swarm of paparazzi lurking around the building, this must be a big contract for the firm.

As expected, a few of his peers are already in the room populating the couches lining the far wall. All of them would answer questions posed by the client, and the client eventually chooses which one they want on their detail. The usual ends up being some old, rich perv who is more concerned with eye candy than safety. 

His eyes widen when he finally looks at the new client. Rather than a wrinkled politician or business tycoon, Iwaizumi sees who might actually be the prettiest person he’s ever seen. The man is around his own age with silver blond hair, pale skin, and a mole so well placed he isn’t entirely convinced it’s natural.

An elbow plants itself into Iwaizumi’s ribs. “Dude, you’re staring,” Matsukawa hisses from the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” Iwaizumi returns the favor and averts his gaze. It’s definitely a faux pas in this line of work. Their customers are usually rich, famous, or both, so gobs of people stare at them all day. His job is to be looking everywhere else for potential danger, and lives can literally depend on his ability to do so.

That doesn’t mean Iwaizumi is immune to the same slew of hormones every other red-blooded male has, too.

Irihata, the personnel manager of Blue Castle Security, clears his throat. Everyone in the room sits up a little straighter in their seats, including their client. “Thank you for coming at such short notice, gentlemen.”

Gesturing behind him, Irihata continues. “This interview will consist of ten questions the client has deemed relevant to his situation.” Blondie wriggles his fingers in greeting, bestowing them all with a dazzling grin, and Iwaizumi’s fingers curl tightly in his lap. “Any questions before we begin?”

Nobody volunteers as they usually don’t, and the interview begins. Most of them are standard inquiries: how long they’ve been in the bodyguard business, how much emphasis they put on discretion, if they’re willing to live with the client and be available around the clock.

Again, their answers are all virtually the same. These are never the things clients use to select their new shadow anyway. It almost always comes down some stupid superficial thing that has nothing to do with security. 

The final question posed by the client, however, grabs his attention immediately. “What do you think this song is about?”

Some decade-old pop song blares from Irihata’s phone, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes to listen. There’s the usual drivel about love and stuff, but a few stray lines stick in his mind. 

Their answers this time around are similar once again, but with one glaring exception. The other three guys interviewing note the surface themes of the song: love, longing, and breakups. When Iwaizumi’s turn comes, everyone in the room gawks at him.

“The song’s in minor key, and the singer’s vibrato is prevalent.” He crosses his arms and harrumphs. “When you realize that and listen to the words, it’s obvious. The song isn’t about breaking up. The song is about a lover dying.”

The new client leaps to his feet and claps in glee. “You are absolutely right! I didn’t think anyone would get that one.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Irihata murmurs, dodging a joyful clothesline. “We’ll be with you shortly.”

Leaving the room, the four of them wait in silence while their next jobs are being decided. When the door opens after only a minute, they look at each other in confusion. It never takes this little time.

Irihata eyes them as he slowly treks across the room, passing by each one of them in turn. He comes to a stop in front of Iwaizumi and Matsukawa. His hand extends between them, but it finally comes to rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Come with me, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Of course.” 

This time when he enters the office, Iwaizumi takes a seat at the table near his newest charge. The guy is still damn pretty, but up close, Iwaizumi can see the lines of weariness creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Iwaizumi-kun, you’ve been chosen for this special assignment.” Nodding toward the client, he adds, “Your new client is Sugawara-san. This young man is in need of your unique powers of observation.”

Iwaizumi’s brows knit. “Unique powers of — what? Is this about the song thing?”

Sugawara beams at him. “Definitely. I need someone who understands nuanced messages.” When Iwaizumi quirks a brow, that smile flags. “Because of this.”

He slides a folded piece of paper across the table, and Iwaizumi picks it up with bald interest. It’s a letter, typed in a plain font and all caps, but when he reads the body of it, a chill lances down his spine.

> _NEED A DREAM? I HAVE A FEW  
>  _ _DIFFERENT WAYS OF ME AND YOU_

“Well that’s just twisted.” Iwaizumi harrumphs. “So I just need to keep Swimfan here off your case?”

Nodding, Sugawara heaves a sigh. “I didn’t take it seriously until someone left a present on my doorstep.” Irihata produces a photograph of detritus splayed out on a table. It is composed of small mirrored bits and what looks like shredded photographs.

“Every piece in there is either a shattered copy of one of my albums or a ripped up picture of me from magazines.”

Iwaizumi worries his bottom lip between his teeth and examines the copied evidence in front of him. Celebrities (he assumes Sugawara is one) receive idle threats all the time and most of the time, nothing comes of them. This, however, carried a dangerous flavor of sincerity. 

“Looks like I’m gonna be all over you like white on rice, Sugawara-san. I’ll need you to stay here while I get the lay of the land at your place and make sure nobody’s lurking in the closet ready to make good on that threat.”

Sugawara frowned. “Is that really nec —”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi and Irihata said in unison. 

Six hours later, Iwaizumi escorts Sugawara into his roomy apartment, prepared this time for the trio of cats waiting to ambush them at the door. “Hi there, my babies!” 

Iwaizumi gawks when Sugawara scoops them all up in a single armload. Forget crazy stalkers, this guy is ready to sacrifice his skin to the claw gods. 

Yet he manages to loose them without a scratch, and they follow him to the corner of the room where a large dish awaits them. After the cats are dealt with, Sugawara flops on the couch and throws an arm over his face. “Ah, I am so tired. I don’t think I’ve slept a full night for days.”

“Understandable.” Iwaizumi shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the nearby dining chairs. “Most people aren’t used to dealing with nutjobs.”

Sugawara perks up and beckons Iwaizumi to the spot next to him on the couch. “Ooh, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen doing your job?”

Without hesitation, Iwaizumi supplied, “A lady who killed her husband and hired a bodyguard to throw the police off her scent. She didn’t count on me IDing the murder weapon as one of her fancy hairpins.”

A sly smile unfurls itself on Sugawara’s face. “I knew you were good. Irihata-san told me I made a good choice.”

“All the guys are good.” His nose wrinkles. “Except Oikawa.”

Sugawara stifles a giggle. “You look like you just swallowed a sock.”

“That sounds about right. Oikawa is really, really good. He just finds a way to be that good in the shittiest way possible.”

Leaning in closer, Sugawara’s eyes light up. “Ooh, tea time.”

While he blurts out every embarrassing story he can think of regarding his childhood friend turned coworker, Iwaizumi’s eyes scan the apartment over and over.

Something in the room makes his skin itch, and for the life of him, he cannot figure out what it is. It isn’t until he sneezes loud and hard that he figures out what it is. The answer is stupidly simple at that point. What’s making his entire being itch is probably fur.

This is going to be a long assignment, he marks before accepting the tissue Sugawara offers.

  
  
  


Sugawara did, in fact, live to regret going on stage the next night. Most of the show goes on business as usual, and Iwaizumi notes that Sugawara’s clear and smooth voice fits the mold of pop idol very well. The way he moves his hips probably doesn’t hurt his case, either.

The mood doesn’t shift until something other than the usual array of personal items lands on the stage during the final song in the set. Iwaizumi skulks across the front of the stage when he hears Sugawara flub a note he hasn’t missed the entire night. 

A plastic figurine of Sugawara, complete with a similarly ostentatious outfit as the one he is currently wearing, lies there with all four limbs snapped off at the joints. Iwaizumi snatches it and tucks it into his jacket pocket before anyone else looks too closely.

The moment the song is over and Sugawara takes his bows, Iwaizumi ushers him offstage and to the dressing room in the back, which had been locked throughout the entire show for safety reasons. Its security is immediately suspect the moment Iwaizumi opens the door.

A phrase is scrawled across the mirror with some sort of makeup. Even without recognizing it, Iwaizumi knows it means something to Sugawara when he blanches. “Oh, god.”

> _IF FOREVER SEEMS TOO FAR  
>  _ _I’LL COME TO WHERE YOU ARE_

Iwaizumi puts his arm around Sugawara and corrals him out of the room. “Come on. You don’t have to look at this.”

Sugawara is shaking, but it takes a moment for Iwaizumi to realize it’s more out of anger than fear. “I wrote that song.”

“Seems on brand,” Iwaizumi murmurs, letting his arm linger around Sugawara’s shoulders. “It’s typical stalker behavior.”

“That’s not it.” Sugawara takes a deep breath. “I haven’t released that song yet. It was set to come out next month before my new album.”

Thoughts fire in Iwaizumi’s brain at warp speed. Just a few minutes before, behind the curtain had seemed like the most secure place available. Now, however, he thinks it might be more dangerous than ever.

Because only someone who works with Sugawara’s record label would have that kind of access, and that person is probably in the building right now.

“Follow me.” Iwaizumi finds the nearest bathroom and barricades the door behind him and his charge. He can’t help but notice how Sugawara’s expression takes on a hard edge while he calls in the incident to both Irihata and the police. He finds he doesn’t like it at all.

The rest of the night is a blur. Iwaizumi and Sugawara are chauffeured back to the apartment personally by Irihata. When they arrive, Iwaizumi pauses while removing his shoes and says, “Hey, do you have copies of all your songs?”

Sugawara raises a brow. “Of course I do. Why?”

“Because I’m going to listen to them.”

It might be a long shot, but Iwaizumi wonders if a clue to the stalker’s next move might be found in between the lines.

The next couple of weeks takes Sugawara to multiple stops on his tour all across Japan, and creepy presents follow them to every one. Sometimes there are notes, sometimes there are objects, but every one of them can be traced back to something referenced in Sugawara’s music. 

The farther through the discography Iwaizumi gets, the more sinister the stalker’s behavior becomes. Two albums in, he learns that the first note left for Sugawara references a song he had covered for a tribute concert honoring the original artist. Other easter eggs include the source of the mangled doll, the ripped photographs, and even the shattered discs. 

He hasn’t known Sugawara long, but Iwaizumi’s respect for the man’s fortitude skyrockets with each new discovery. Most normal people would balk in the face of such harassment, but Sugawara’s head remains firmly up and his resolve intact.

At last, the final stop on the last leg of Sugawara’s tour arrives, and Iwaizumi knows that if anything is going to happen, it will be here. Several of Iwaizumi’s peers are there to lend support to the stadium’s usual security staff. It’s with a cocktail of relief and irritation when Oikawa saunters over to him and Sugawara while they sit in wait backstage for the show to begin.

“Ah, Iwa-chan, I’ve missed you needing my expertise.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I need you like I need an extra hole in my ass, Shittykawa. Now beat it.”

“Iwa-chan?” Beside him, Sugawara stifles a giggle. “Oh my god, he is exactly like you said he was. I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Unfortunately.” Iwaizumi ignores Oikawa’s squawk of protest and focuses on Sugawara. “Be alert. I want to hear you finish that song you were working on yesterday, all right?”

Sugawara grinds his fist into his palm and nods, looking ready to knock any and all challengers on their collective asses. His confidence and his flashy garb are a bizarre dichotomy, but after spending this much time with Sugawara, Iwaizumi thinks they both fit him well.

The last message left for them still churns in Iwaizumi’s head. He is only a hair’s breadth away from dissecting the clues hidden in the text. Something about the way the paper had been shredded bothers him.

In all caps like every other one, the difference in this note is that it had been mangled before it was even delivered. The paper had been rent diagonally across the paper, gouging the eyes out of a picture of Sugawara from a recent magazine spread. Iwaizumi had recognized the lyrics included as part of the bridge of Sugawara’s song _Tearing It Up_.

A song about a jilted lover getting even doesn’t sit well with him at all.

The show proceeds without creepy projectiles, but the longer he waits for the shoe to drop, the tighter the knot of nerves in Iwaizumi’s stomach winds itself. While his eyes drag over the perimeter, the words of the song Sugawara is about to start singing to end the set races through his head.

From the scaffold above the stage, Iwaizumi hears a sharp sneeze and looks up. His gaze locks onto the giant cat’s paw made of chicken wire and paper maché, a mainstay of Sugawara’s stage presentation for the entire tour. Someone had their hands wrapped around the ropes tied to the rigging, which keeps it from dropping right down on Sugawara’s head.

> _Run your claws down my back and bleed me dry._

“Shit.” Iwaizumi breaks out into a run, ignoring the surprised gasps from the backup dancers he plows past. Sugawara’s eyes bulge when Iwaizumi’s arms latch around him and haul him to the floor, and the arena bursts into alarmed cries when the giant paw plummets to the stage.

From the periphery, Iwaizumi sees Oikawa and Matsukawa spring into action, but his eyes never leave Sugawara. The flash of shock is something he expects, but soon it’s his turn to be surprised by the wide grin that spreads across Sugawara’s face. “My hero.”

Blood rushes to Iwaizumi’s cheeks, and he looks at anything but Sugawara’s saucy expression. “Stop cracking jokes. Someone tried to kill you like a Looney Toon.”

Sugawara laughs until tears sprout from the corners of his eyes. “How could I not when I can get the big buff bodyguard-kun to blush?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “You are not normal.”

“Why thank you.” Sugawara wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s bicep and watches as the culprit is hauled off in front of a packed house. “I think he sent me flowers on Valentine’s Day.”

“Hope you sent him a restraining order for White Day.” Their eyes meet, and they both dissolve into something dangerously close to a giggle. “You know this crap will be all over YouTube in a few hours, right?”

With a shrug, Sugawara harrumphs. “Won’t be the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.”

They fall quiet, and Iwaizumi doesn’t want to disturb the moment. With the culprit on his way to jail for a very long time, his time with Sugawara will also come to an end. He isn’t sure he remembers what life had been like before learning to wake up to the sound of Sugawara singing in the shower.

“Way ahead of you, love.” Sugawara pecks a kiss on Iwaizumi’s cheek and slides something into his pocket. “Call me,” he whispers before sauntering backstage toward his dressing room.

From behind him, Iwaizumi hears a wolf whistle, and from the other side of the stage, Hanamaki gives him two thumbs up and a brow waggle. Iwaizumi flips him a bird in reply, and his feet carry him toward the backstage where one job is about to end and an entirely different world is about to take its place.


End file.
